These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(65)

“It would be just as easy for you to explain the truth—”

Against all odds, Lady Kent’s stern face managed even less sympathy than ever. “Miss Wyndham, I’ve seen girls like you and your sister for years—it never changes. You all think yourselves so clever, so pretty, and so entitled that you believe the rules of society don’t apply to you. That you’re free to do whatever you wish while the rest of us have to struggle and suffer and sacrifice to get what we want the right way!”

I barely had it within me to argue. It would only further hurt my chances of staying.

“No one cares to ever look beyond appearances. Society prefers it to be simple. And you spend years reaping the benefits, and suddenly, when it no longer works for you, everyone must change then, is that right?”

Meekly, I shook my head and took the abuse, resisting the burning desire to shove the woman into the fire.

She readjusted her position, gritting her teeth and giving a firm nod. “Of course not. Now, ask Tuffins to send someone for your trunk, and leave quietly. I must see to my guests.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go . . .” I said.

Her veiny hand gave me a dismissive wave. “I’m sure your parents will take you. Or some convent.”

“. . . or anyone to help me.”

“Your sister will keep you comp—company,” she said, her speech veering off as she strained to keep the pain down.

As I stood up, though, a wild, desperate idea came to me at the sight of her grimace. The answer. I’d cure her illness in an instant, and there’d be no way she could refute that evidence.

Hurrying around the low table, I reached over the arm of the settee and grasped Lady Kent’s wrist.

“What in—what are you doing? Get off!” she gasped.

Just five minutes. It’s all I needed to convince her of everything. To convince her to let me stay. “Relax, Lady Kent, please. I can heal you and remove the pain, just—just give me a few minutes.”

She wouldn’t stop feebly squirming and shoving as she attempted to wriggle across the cushions, away from me. “Don’t touch me!” she wailed. “Get your hands off—”

I stretched out farther, struggling to keep balance. “I can help you! Sto—”

“Tuffins!” she screeched like a banshee. “Help me! Someone! She’s gone mad!”

“I’ll fix everything—it’ll be all ri—”

And a stinging blow tore across my cheek. The unexpected welt sent me recoiling, and I let go of her as she nearly collapsed out of her seat.

While I stood, still frozen in shock, she staggered up and managed to make it to the door, where Tuffins appeared with a concerned footman and Mr. Kent.

“I was under the impression the party was in the other room,” Mr. Kent joked. His smile vanished the moment he saw his disheveled stepmother and me.

“S-see that Miss Wyndham is gone immediately,” Lady Kent choked out to Tuffins, before turning to Mr. Kent. “And you! I have had enough of this silly infatuation you seem to entertain. If you speak one more word to that wicked girl, consider yourself cut off from this family!”

She disappeared down the hall and up the stairs. It took seven uncomfortable steps to leave the drawing room and three more to reach Mr. Kent in the hall. Behind him, guests spilled out of the music room to see the commotion.

As I passed him, I urged him silently: Tell her the truth. Say anything. Please.

But his head stayed down, and he refused to meet my eyes. I could swear that I heard a slight murmur of my name, but then he mustered up a polite smile for Tuffins, gave him a curt nod, and retreated to the music room, steering the crowd back in with him.

“Where was I? I was just starting or finishing my list of France’s virtues . . . oh well, either way, we’ve come to the end,” he said, the door shutting behind him.

Tuffins gave me a look of sympathy, told the footman to fetch a cab, and led me up the stairs. My knees followed, but my mind was entirely blank, shocked, and unable to make any plans. How could everything fall apart in a matter of minutes?

Slumped against what used to be my bedroom door, Laura waited for me, her face red and raw from crying.

“Oh, Evelyn! I’m so sorry!” she cried, clasping on with a hug. “I tried to explain it to her, but she wouldn’t listen! She never listens to me.”

“She didn’t believe me, either,” I said, managing to unlatch her person from mine.

She shuffled into the room behind me. “She—she said it was not possible. Someone in Mrs. Verinder’s house staff said they saw everything you did. And your sister.”

I pulled out my trunk from a closet and stuffed my clothes inside. No point in folding them. “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s Miss Verinder, of course. She set this all up! Why—how could this even happen? We’ve told the truth, and they believe her fabricated tale!” I exclaimed.

Laura shook her head, fresh tears streaming down her face. “Even Nick won’t try to convince Mama! I refuse to talk to him.”

I shook my head, trying to shut my trunk. Overloaded, it wouldn’t close. “Don’t do that—he’s your brother.”

“And I hate him. I hate everyone! I just want to run away from home . . . or set it on fire. Or set Miss Verinder’s house on fire! Oooh, we should do that, Evelyn!”